


vita longa

by NotPersephone



Series: Count and Countess Lecter [34]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, F/M, Happy Lecter family, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 12:37:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20582627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: Standing in the doorway, Hannibal watches the picture from afar with fervent affection, each line and hue a broad stroke on the canvas of his mind.He hesitates for a moment, not wanting to disturb their rest, but then his heart pushes him forward, the distance between him and the scene suddenly unbearable, simple observation never enough to satisfy its beat.





	vita longa

**Author's Note:**

> This story was conceived from all too many "they deserved better" feelings I've been having. With extra sprinkle of fluff on top, just because. Not much plot, a lot of feelings aka my calling card.

It is an image of blissful tranquillity, one Hannibal has never known could exist, not in his life anyway.

Two figures lying on a sofa, enveloped in peaceful sleep, a woman and a child; a view that has never lingered in his perception, except in passing glances, and now it is the only impression he wants to preserve.

The little girl’s face is hidden, buried deeply in Bedelia’s shoulder, tiny hands grasping her dress. Bedelia holds her firmly in her arms, her head tilted as if ready to fall off the top of the sofa, her hair half covering her face in lustrous waves, shining like the last beacon of light in the growing dusk.

Standing in the doorway, Hannibal watches the picture from afar with fervent affection, each line and hue a broad stroke on the canvas of his mind. He used to consider the allure of life as the most fragile thing, easily broken and slowly vanishing in the continuous flow of time, the shards of too many broken teacups poking sharply from the corners of his mind, reminding him of purposelessness of any attachment. _Ars longa, vita brevis_ were the words he lived by. Before he would be content with committing the perfect vision to his mind where he could peruse it at his leisure, detailed frescoes arising on the walls of his memory palace, never muddled or faded in their enchantment, but he now knows that is not where the real beauty lies.

He hesitates for a moment, not wanting to disturb their rest, but then his heart pushes him forward, the distance between him and the scene suddenly unbearable, simple observation never enough to satisfy its beat. His cat-like steps are silent against the stone floor as he walks into the room and approaches the sofa. His fingers twitch and he cannot resist reaching his hand out and brushing the hair away from Bedelia’s face, uncovering the sublime lines of her face, their contour soften by the quietude of sleep. Hannibal’s fingertips linger on the soft skin of her cheek, caressing it gently. She does not stir, his touch a familiar constant in her life. Hannibal’s hand then moves to touch their daughter’s head, stroking her silky blonde locks just as tenderly. He smiles admiring their tint, resembling her mother’s more and more each day.

His mind recalls Botticelli’s Madonna and Child and how he remade the composition with Bedelia’s and Mira’s faces, only to discover the piece could not embody their beauty in all its intricacy and exquisiteness, constantly evolving, unlike the static figures on the painting, no matter how well rendered. Still, it did not diminish his eagerness to record their likeness on paper, his favourite pastime, pouring his devotion through each stroke of a pencil, every sketch like a wordless love letter. He will no doubt attempt to capture this moment as well, the composition already set in his mind and ready to be transferred onto paper. But not now.

As tranquil as they appear, he cannot let them sleep here all night. His hands shift, taking a gentle hold of their daughter, wanting to slowly remove her from the embrace. Bedelia’s eyes spring open instantly, alerted by the attempt, fierce protectiveness colouring her gaze like sharp crystals, ready to cut, making Hannibal’s heart swell in his chest, fresh adoration flowing through his veins, crimson red and warmer than blood. The gas flames in Bedelia’s eyes cease to burn when she sees him, eye lids once again heavy and beginning to close.

“I will take her to bed,” Hannibal whispers softly, smiling as Bedelia’s arms give way at once, allowing him to take their daughter.

A small mewl of discontent leaves the girl’s lips as he pulls her away from her mother’s cosy embrace. He hugs her with utmost delicacy, not wanting to wake her, and as soon as he brings her to his chest, she sighs out and nestles closer, finding another familiar hold.

“I see she has finally tired herself,” he says, adjusting his arms, ensuring she rests comfortably.

“Or rather managed to tire me,” Bedelia replies, her voice still dulled by sleep. She moves slowly, straightening her head, hand reaching for her neck, the muscles stiffened from the clumsy resting position.

Since she mastered walking, Mira had swiftly transformed her newfound knowledge into love for running. Finally being able to explore on her own, the patter of tiny feet and loud laughter echoed constantly down the long corridors and stairways, increasing curiosity fuelling her endless pursuit. With Bedelia or Hannibal following closely behind, ensuring she does not fall.

Hannibal’s hands now twitch anew, longing for nothing more than to relief Bedelia’s discomfort, but first things first.

“I will be back soon,” he promises solemnly. Bedelia barely nods, her head dipping once more in the search of interrupted sleep.

Smiling at that sight of her, Hannibal leaves the room with their daughter tucked safely in his hold. He walks up the stairs slowly, but she remains fast asleep, curled up against his shoulder. He marvels at the perfection of her, growing and ever changing, and that somehow, he played a role in creating her, even if the part were trivial comparing to Bedelia’s. He remembers how tiny she was when she was born yet already radiating strength as he held her for the first time, and he knew it was all because of Bedelia.

Upon reaching her room, he places Mira down on her bed, a task proving harder than it seems with her unwillingness to leave his arms and his equal reluctance to let her go. She fusses softly, but once her head sinks into a pillow, she returns to her tranquil slumber. Hannibal covers her with a blanket and tucks her in with care, then makes sure that all her chosen cuddly toys are close by, especially her favourite one, a plush alpaca.

Taking the soft toy in his hands, Hannibal smiles remembering the pure wonder in her eyes when she discovered the real animals. The excitement in her gaze was accompanied by Bedelia’s stern one, directed at him, ensuring that he would not get any spontaneous _ideas_.

He puts the plush down on the bed, bringing it closer, within the immediate reach of tiny arms and plants a final, loving kiss on her forehead before exiting quietly.

When he returns downstairs, he finds Bedelia asleep with her head once again tilted against the sofa. He goes to her without delay, sitting on the edge of the cushion and reaching his arm out to guide Bedelia’s body closer to him. His hand on her back, her head instantly moves and rolls to rest on his shoulder. Fingers find their purpose at once, gently stroking and pressing the knotted muscles on the back of her neck. Bedelia hums with relief, her body pressing to his in obvious appreciation of his touch.

“Is she asleep?” she murmurs into his neck, attempting to lift her head, but its heaviness and his inviting warmth pull her back down instantly.

“She is,” Hannibal sits back so she can rest more comfortably, his fingers still massaging the back of her neck, “You should go back to sleep as well.”

“I am not asleep. I am merely resting my eyes,” she insists but snuggles closer, nose burrowing in his shoulder.

“Of course,” Hannibal does not argue, finding her barely conscious state utterly endearing, as is her intuitive need for closeness, “But perhaps it would be more comfortable to rest your eyes in bed,” he suggests gently.

Another soft sigh falls from her lips and caresses his neck with pleasurable warmth, but she does not reply.

“Bedelia?” he asks after a moment, his voice barely a whisper, in case she has fallen asleep altogether.

“Yes,” she purrs, “That is better,” she exhales contentedly as her hand rests on his chest, fingers finding gaps between buttons, eager to venture beneath his shirt in search of heat. She has somehow jumped ahead in her dream, thinking they were already in bed. And no wonder, since the comfort of his torso is what she associates with their restful nights together.

His smile widening, Hannibal does not correct her, simply enveloping her further, waiting for her to drift away completely. And soon enough, her breaths even, her body languid and relaxed in his hold, a clear sign of deep sleep.

Hannibal’s arms encircle Bedelia’s legs and back and he lifts her up with tender ease. He leaves the darkened room and once again makes it way up the stairs, carrying another precious charge, trusting into his care with similar willingness. His grip tenses slightly as he considers the gravity of her trust; it is not something she had given to anyone before. He relaxes his grasp anew, holding her surely; he had forsaken her confidence once, but never again.

The bedroom is sheathed in darkness, the last sparks of light fading quickly, but he enters it with confidence, the path to their bed paved with countless steps. He puts Bedelia down on the mattress, and lies down next to her at once, gathering her closer and allowing her to reclaim her sleeping spot on his chest, the transition effortless enough for her to remain asleep. He smooths her hair, fingers tracing its length, then moves to stroke her neck in soft caresses, making her sigh in her sleep, her body flushed against his.

The purple sky outside slowly fades to black, sealing the image of them in all its serenity. In the stillness of their space Hannibal feels Bedelia’s heartbeat, pulsating against his chest, overpowering his senses. He can almost hear their daughter’s matching beat, imagining it resonating through the walls, filling the stone with life. He used to think he could only truly live if he were ready for death at any given moment, but now he knows he could not have been more wrong. Bedelia’s and Mira’s pulses thump inside him like a second heart. And he will do anything to protect them and keep them thriving.

He has never felt more alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Mira courtesy of Lena/awayfromsight, a delight to write as always. She is around 1 year old here.  
Hannibal would definitely consider buying their daughter an alpaca.


End file.
